


Suffering from Volatile Hormones

by bluewhitewings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Graceless Castiel, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:51:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluewhitewings/pseuds/bluewhitewings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fallen angel and an alcoholic closet case.  They fight crime!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffering from Volatile Hormones

Despite how naked he had been in so many other situations, it seemed strange to flash an angel. Wrong, somehow. “Shit! Cas!” He reached for the towel as it fluttered out of his grasp, sinking into a half-crouch to try to hide himself. He edged towards the bed, retrieving the coarse white towel and holding it over his groin with one hand, gesturing casually with the other. “You uh… look good.”

Castiel tilted his head and his sharp blue gaze drifted from the towel in Dean’s hand up over his torso, lingering on the tattoo before jumping to his eyes. “Hello Dean.” he said quietly.

“Cas.” He reached for him, resting a hand on the angel’s shoulder and squeezing it hard. “You in one piece?” Castiel’s head inclined in a nod, but he never took his eyes from Dean’s, his expression earnest at first. A slight tensing of his jaw beneath a layer of dark stubble showed Dean all he needed to know about the angel’s emotional state.

“It would be obvious if I were in multiple pieces, Dean.” He stated flatly before he glanced down. “My brothers and sisters have fallen.” The hunter gave his friend’s shoulder another squeeze, and Castiel moved forward abruptly, from arms length to his usual uncomfortably close distance. Dean became uncomfortably aware of the breeze caressing his bare ass, and likewise the proximity of the angel.

“I know, Cas. I saw.” He dropped his hand to return the towel to his waist. Castiel watched his hands with a flat stare, some unreadable emotion replacing grief for a moment until Dean righted the towel. Then the bright blue gaze jumped back to his face. And then somewhere over his right shoulder. “Hey, Cas.” Dean asked cautiously. Shifty angels unsettled him. “You sure you’re okay, man?” He dipped a bit to try to catch Castiel’s eye again.

“Dean. I-” Castiel’s jaw clenched and he looked at Dean wearily. “I have nothing left. My Grace. Metatron took my Grace, and I have nothing. I am human.”

“Hey, Cas. C’mon, bein’ human isn’t so bad. You can meet some nice lady who’s into weirdos, have a family.” He squeezed his upper arm and the angel gave his hand a puzzled and somewhat disgusted look as it touched him. “There’s plenty to love about being human.” Castiel’s clear gaze drilled into him. “Dean, the fallen angels have all of their powers. And everything is my fault. They will be hunting me.” Dean’s hand fell and he turned away to slump onto the bed, rubbing his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh.” He was quiet for a moment, dropping one hand to his knee and squinting at Cas. “And you wanted me to find your feathery ass?” Castiel turned his body to face the hunter, brow furrowed and a frown on his face. “Dean.. of course. I am human now. Humans at their deepest molecular level crave companionship. They need a herd, a pack.” Dean snorted. “You and Sam, you are… the closest thing to that now that I am one of you.” He stepped forward, once again uncomfortably close to Dean, looking down at him.

Dean shifted. If he stood, he would be pressed against the angel, and if he remained seated he would still be practically face to groin. But something about looking up at him seemed too personal. “Cas, what did I tell you about personal space?”

“Oh.” The angel moved back half a step. “My apologies.” It really wasn’t enough. Castiel still stood far too close. The faint scent of ozone clung to the angel, and always had. Dean found some comfort in that, and lifted his chin to look up at Castiel. “So we’re your pack now?” He couldn’t help a faint note of bitterness. “I guess this means you’re done being Naomi’s bitch.”

Castiel frowned and looked away. “Naomi is dead. And I am sorry for being her… bitch.” He looked uncomfortable with the assertion and Dean gave a soundless laugh hearing it come from Cas’s normally pure mouth. “Dean, I am sorry. For everything I did to you.” Dean looked up at the guilty reproach in Cas’s deep voice and nearly responded, but he was stopped by Cas’s hand on his face, the angel’s fingers soft against his jaw and stroking against his jawline to rest just under his chin, echoing the healing touch he had used in the past. “I need you, too.” That shook Dean, and it took a moment for the full implications of the statement to course through him like electricity shooting from Castiel’s fingertips.

“Cas, you don’t have to apologize to me. We both said stuff we didn’t mean.” His throat was dry and Castiel’s piercing blue eyes watched his mouth. Without intending to, he licked his lips. “You don’t need me.”

“Dean, you and I share an important bond. It is far stronger than any I have felt with anyone, human or angel.” Castiel’s fingers drifted to the corner of his jaw, then dipped just behind his ear. Dean suppressed a shudder and dropped his head, trying to ignore the yammering of his mind and the eagerness of his body. His skin pricked in gooseflesh and he was suddenly more aware of the terrycloth against his groin. “You are a good man, Dean. I am very glad that I know you.” Castiel’s fingers stroked through the short hair on the nape of Dean’s neck and he could feel the blood rushing from his brain and making an already uncomfortable situation worse.

“Cas, would you wait a minute?” he asked breathlessly, shoving the angel’s hand away and shifting to hide the bulge in the towel. “What the hell, dude.”

Castiel pulled his hand away a mere fraction of an inch, tilting his head. “I am sorry. I forget at times how volatile your hormones can be, Dean.”

Dean gaped at the angel, unsure as usual if he was joking. “How… C’mon, it’s not like that.” He fell into an uncomfortable silence in which several arguments for his love of women rose and fell unspoken. There was something between them, and that something was a deeper connection than he’d ever felt. “I’m not into dudes.” he stated, his voice weak and lacking the indignant tone he had fully intended to use.

Castiel turned, the piercing blue eyes fixing on Dean’s. Dean looked away. “I am no ‘dude,’ Dean. I am… was an angel of the Lord.” Castiel finished his statement with frustration, turning and collapsing next to Dean on the foot of the bed, burying his head in his hands.

“Cas, don’t. You’re gonna be fine. We’ve just gotta wait ‘til your bell rings, Clarence.” Castiel was clearly not in a helpful enough mood to question or correct his reference, and simply lifted his head to stare at Dean sidelong. He folded his hands in front of his knees, his knuckles white. The silence stretched on. “You’re still my angel, though.” He grinned, leaning over to jostle Castiel’s shoulder with his. Cas was impassive as he spoke.

“I am no longer an angel. No amount of delusion on your part will bring back my grace.” His fingers squeezed together, then spread as he pressed his palms to his knees, rubbing them, the dark slacks crinkling under his fingers. Dean watched this for a long moment, then reached over and rested his hand on Castiel’s. The nervous fidgeting stopped. “Dean. What are you doing.”

Dean held his ground, wrapping his fingers around Castiel’s, fighting the voice in his head that screamed, Dean Winchester isn’t gay, Dean Winchester is God’s gift to women. The angel’s fingers twitched against his, his other hand coming around to skim blindly over his shower-warmed skin to his shoulder, gripping him tight. “Cas, I need you,” and the rest of the sentence trailed off, leaving a promise that Dean barely caught himself making. “I need you to calm down. After everything you did for us? C’mon, we’re not gonna leave you like this. Sammy an’ me, we’ll fix you right up.”

Castiel was staring at him with pleading in his eyes and for a moment it felt uncomfortably like the angel was worshipping him as he spoke, and it was a look he’d seen before, and the touch on his arm he’d felt before and his memories of Anna came crashing back. He wasn’t into dudes, no. But it seemed like Dean Winchester might just have a thing for angels. It seemed the angel had stopped breathing entirely, and Dean pressed a hand to his chest, fingers resting beneath the edge of his suitcoat on the thin fabric of his white shirt. He could feel the hammering of Cas’s heart against his fingers and broke eye contact to stare at his lips. “Dean.” Cas spoke with an urgent tone and Dean could tell he was looking for his next words. He took the opportunity to silence him before his nerves could fail, tilting his head and catching his mouth in a kiss, slow and gentle and the sort of thing that would leave the ladies gasping.

Dean was hoping to have the upper hand with the kiss, to maybe knock Cas off his feet a little so he’d have a minute to process the intimate moment with the angel who also happened to be a man, but Castiel clearly had other ideas. As he pulled away Dean felt the grip on his hand release and moments later he was on his back on the tacky coverlet, Castiel’s fingers knotted in his hair and the weight of the man draped over his body. He could feel the towel come undone and Cas’s tongue was in his mouth, his chapped lips pressed against his, the feel of his stubble against Dean’s face exciting in a way he would never have expected. Castiel dragged his head back and placed a bite on his jaw, ripping a surprised groan from his throat.

Castiel’s hand brushed down his chest, touching his nipple curiously as the angel lifted his head, pupils blown wide so the bright blue was just a ring around each. His body shifted, thigh pressing between Dean’s legs. With every breath his shaft throbbed against Cas’s trousers, the soft slickness of the suit catching against his heated skin. Dean struggled to find a reason to stop, to start again on equal footing but the angel’s deep voice kept him pinned as he was.

“Dean, I am also under the influence of volatile hormones.” The angel stated in a rush. Dean shifted and rolled out from under him, eager mind reeling. Castiel sat up and caught Dean’s hesitant gaze, lowering his chin as he started to pull at his tie. Every motion was done slowly, the entire act a question. Dean watched this, stomach in knots. He could stop the angel with a word, but he didn’t. Instead, he grabbed the tie from Cas’s startled hands and threw it across the room, returning his attention to the buttons on his shirt as the angel wriggled out of his trench coat and surged up to catch Dean’s shoulder in a kiss, followed by a bite.

Dean’s eyes closed at the bite, his fingers tearing the last remaining buttons free, yanking the shirt open and dragging it from Cas’s shoulders. “Dean,” came a growling voice near his ear and the heat of Cas’s breath hit just below his ear, as another bite caught the side of his neck and forced a desperate sound from him.

Dean clutched at Castiel’s back, nails digging in at the sharp nip. He hadn’t expected Castiel to be prone to biting. His hands softened against Cas’s back, not as smooth as a woman but with an intriguing interplay of muscles. The strong hands brushing against his stomach as Cas struggled with his fly were different, but no less arousing. With a whisper of wool, Cas’s slacks were around his ankles and his hands were gripping Dean and pushing him back to the bed.

Dean let his eyes close as he hit the mattress, not willing to look at the naked man standing over him. A hand pressed on his hip, fingers spreading over the skin and brushing inward. There was only a hint of timidity to the touch, skimming over his flushed skin and teasing lightly against the thin trail of hair that led to his groin. “Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas.” There was no amount of will on earth that would keep the desperation out of his voice, the pleading, the breathless sound of his arousal staining his voice. Fingers drifted lower. “Dean, look at me.” Dean bit his lip, warring with his upbringing for a moment before opening his eyes to watch Castiel. “I need to.. see your face.” The angel’s fingers traced the length of him before quickly encircling his shaft, giving a single slow stroke. Dean tensed, a breath caught in his throat as he propped himself onto his elbows, his hand gripping Cas’s forearm. The bed sagged next to him as the angel slipped onto it, hot breath in his ear as he pressed close. “I am familiar with masturbation, but I have never performed the act on another. I.. may need your assistance.”

Dean couldn’t help a giddy laugh at Castiel’s clinical assessment of the situation. It wasn’t just some man off the street. It was his angel. He reached down to encircle Cas’s hand on his cock and turned his head to look at him. Castiel’s wide blue eyes caught his as he guided his hand around him in a familiar rhythm. His breath caught in his chest as Cas got the hang of it and he skimmed his hand up his arm slowly, leaning in a bit to press a kiss to those chapped lips again, relishing the exotic feeling of stubble against his lip.

Castiel was enthusiastic. For a time, Dean thought to ask if he had done this before, but his brain soon fogged over from the sensation of Cas’s hand on him, pulling him to the edge then slowing and letting him fall back; it was fighting against the high tide and undertow all at once. With every gasping moan and cry, there was an answering rumble of encouragement and Cas’s fingers would sweep against the head of his cock, catching the evidence of Dean’s enjoyment on his fingertips.

Dean’s hand moved down the center of Cas’s chest, intrigued by the feel of hair. It wasn’t as unappealing as he had once thought it to be. His fingers drifted, dipping into his navel and progressing lower until he brushed against smooth, hot flesh. Cas’s fingers tightened in his hair and the angel gasped as Dean rolled to face him. The heated flesh in his hand was familiar enough.

Castiel’s gaze burned into his, daring him to look away and pleading with him to keep looking. Dean could feel himself losing control, thrusting into his grip as he fought to bring Cas to the same point. “Dean,” came Castiel’s voice, the gravelly edge to it as sharp in his ears as ever, even over the heady pleasure in the angel’s voice. Something in the sound of it made Dean’s stomach clench, the feeling of electricity jolting through him.

“Cas!” was all he managed to choke out before his mind exploded with pleasure, his eyes tight shut against the coverlet, painting the angel’s stomach with liquid heat. Castiel didn’t stop even then, his fingers still gently stroking Dean’s throbbing shaft until he had nothing left to give. He shoved at Castiel’s wrist, and the angel pulled his hand away, then rested a gentle touch on the other, still loosely draped around Castiel’s erection.

“More?” he asked as the angel squirmed against him. “Yes,” Cas whispered, and grabbed Dean’s shoulder. He watched the angel, glad for the chance as Castiel’s face flushed. Dean quickened his pace and Cas caught his lip between his teeth and worried it, eyes closed and long lashes laying against his cheeks. He slowed and Cas released his lip long enough to give a ragged cry, his fingers digging into Dean’s skin as he tensed. “Dean!” he growled against his skin in what seemed like a mix of frustration and pleading. Dean obliged the silent plea and gave his shaft a squeeze, sweeping his fingers up and over the crown as Cas’s reactions to his touch intensified. The angel gave a sudden cry and curled in on himself, his face contorted in intense pleasure as semen spilled through Dean’s fingers to pool on the sheet beneath them.

“Wow,” was all Dean managed, giving Cas a few slow strokes as the angel shuddered in his arms, only stopping when Cas bit him. Dean winced, certain there would be a mark on his shoulder.

“Enough,” Castiel gritted out after releasing him. “I do not want to chafe.” He sat up, dark hair a mess, and busied himself clearing the bed of his clothes. He turned a bit and gave Dean a small smile, the expression almost tender. Dean watched him guardedly. “Your people have complicated reasons to feel shame. I know you will feel it. You will try to hide this from Sam. You will wonder what your father would think. What Bobby would think.” Dean’s objections withered under the angel’s succinct appraisal of his feelings. He looked away and gave a faint nod. “Nothing we have done tonight, or will do in the future, is worthy of your shame, Dean.” Cas stood and reached for Dean’s discarded towel, absently wiping the semen from his stomach and wiping it from the sheets before sliding back into bed.

“Cas,” Dean started and the angel looked over at him, a hint of worry on his face. “Thanks.” Castiel’s smile was worth the weeks of self-loathing to come, but for the moment Dean leaned into the angel’s kiss like he had nothing else to live for.


End file.
